I OFTEN wonder what could ever top the excitement I felt at the birth of my babies. Well now I know, having become the proud surrogate mother to seven fluffy yellow ducklings. The children usually hatch chicks or ducklings in class so I looked it up to see if we could do the same in […]
I OFTEN wonder what could ever top the excitement I felt at the birth of my babies.
Well now I know, having become the proud surrogate mother to seven fluffy yellow ducklings.
The children usually hatch chicks or ducklings in class so I looked it up to see if we could do the same in “home school” and found this company, Incredible Eggs.
They set you up with everything you need and after ten days they collect everything – including the ducklings if you don’t want to keep them.
The kids were besotted from day one, Googling everything from incubation to what ducklings like to eat or how much sleep they need. I’m gobsmacked but even the poop hasn’t put them off – and there is poop galore.
The idea was that we would hatch them before finding them homes, and a few of the little fluff balls do have homes to go to.
But, of course, they’re only a week old and the pitching has started for how many we can keep.
The emotional blackmail I’m getting is like nothing else – “How can we possibly choose between them, Mum?” And then there are the endless promises of how the kids will tend to their every need.
While I thought it might be the younger ones who were most obsessed, it has actually been my 14-year-old Finnbar who has been fighting most ferociously to keep them. He’s said he’ll step up and wants to be responsible.
I want to believe them all, I really do – but I was once a kid too. I used the same lines, and meant every word at the time.
I remember being desperate for a hamster. I pleaded with my mum, then with my gran when my mother said no, promising to clean, feed and play with the fur baby.
Eventually, as my parents were divorced, I turned to my dad. I spent my weekends with him and he was a soft touch so didn’t take much persuading.
Soon we had Midnight, a long-haired black hamster. He was horrid. He hated being handled and would bite at every opportunity. Congratulations to Dad – he had a bad-tempered hamster to look after for a few years, as I soon lost interest.
Fast forward 20 years and I am now the parent – the one wincing at the prospect of cleaning up the poop of fully grown ducks as they float in our paddling pool.
But like my dad, I’m a bit of a softy. I love any animals.
And while Mark wasn’t sold when they first arrived, he has cracked too and can see the benefits.
The children are seeing that things don’t get cleaned by magic and food doesn’t just appear. Casper, our youngest and most heavy-handed child, has been gentle beyond belief. I’m pretty sure he thinks he is a duckling. Having to care for something can surely only help my babies to become responsible citizens.
So even though I know it will be me in the wind and rain tending to these flipping ducks come winter, of course I’m going to succumb to the pressure and let them keep a few.
Plus, they are super cute. So there you have it – I am now officially a duck mum.
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